


Fragments (left)

by ClaudiaFekete



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a sad ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Body Swap AU, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25107754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaudiaFekete/pseuds/ClaudiaFekete
Summary: “Don’t touch him!” Shackles bit into his writs. Metal sizzling with infernal power restrained him there on the spot. He thought he could hear the sneering and jeering behind the glass window andthank God Crowley isn’t the one who’s going to die surrounded by these horrible creatures.They were going to die.It hit him like the slap on Crowley’s face.Inspired by "The perfect day" by @GreenGlitchBitch. It's alright if you haven't read that one. Just know that heaven and hell found out about the body swap in this.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Fragments (left)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The perfect day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22690249) by [GreenGlitchBitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenGlitchBitch/pseuds/GreenGlitchBitch). 



“Don’t touch him!” Shackles bit into his writs. Metal sizzling with infernal power restrained him there on the spot. He thought he could hear the sneering and jeering behind the glass window and _thank God Crowley isn’t the one who’s going to die surrounded by these horrible creatures._

They were going to die.

It hit him like the slap on Crowley’s face. _We’re going to die._ He was so drenched in his dread as to not realize Michael’s malicious smile right away.

_I’m going to die._

“Crowley.” It escaped as a sigh just like withered leaves on tree falling.

Aziraphale was waiting. He was waiting for Crowley to catch his eyes. He was waiting for the moment they found other’s souls like another thousand, tens of thousands of times. He was waiting for Crowley to turn away from Gabriel and Uriel and all those fucking Archangels and looked at him. He was ready. He would say, _you shouldn’t._

Those beautiful snake eyes would blow wide when they understood what Aziraphale was suggesting, _pleading_. Crowley wouldn’t like that. Aziraphale was chopping his heart to do this too. They had walked out of the apartment ready to face heaven and hell, to die in each other’s places if needed.

Aziraphale was ready to die for Crowley, but that didn’t mean Crowley had to die for him.

Aziraphale hated this. He hated the possibility that Crowley was going to sit on the thrown of pure white marble, lost in the high above’s stillness. He hated to think that after a few years, a few hundred years, those beautiful, mischievous eyes would be gone, replaced by yellow glass. One day, Crowley might even forget him. Eternity was longer than anyone could bear.

But he would do this. He would do this for him. All this for him. If one of them could be alive. He would say that he doesn’t care. He would say that he doesn’t mind. He would speak the name _Crowley_ like cradling a dying hope and pour all his tenderness just once, just this one, and say, _Raphael._ Had a last glance, and walked into the fire himself.

Why hadn’t Crowley’s eyes turned this way yet? He wanted to grasp the last minutes like a bush of rosemary hugging twilight, until it was all gone.

Crowley spoke. “I’m beyond saving anyway. I’ve fallen not once, but twice.”

And—Aziraphale couldn’t see the expression he was wearing, not exactly. The tint of eyes seemed like moon casting itself in a river, bright. Bright and blazing. Bright and unmoving.

That was how he knew, not matter what he said, Crowley wouldn’t take Heaven’s offer. Never.

He wondered what fate awaited their belongings. The book shop, Bentley. The wonderful human who had helped them save the world. _Or those human who has save the world while we made a fool of ourselves._ He wondered what would happen to them. He did write a will somewhere. It was as useless as their disguise attempt anyway. On the typed piece of paper it read: _all things goes to Anthony J. Crowley. He has the power to do whatever he like to them._ He wondered if Crowley had his documents locked somewhere. He wondered what it reads.

It was still kind of surreal thinking about his bookshop. He had been told that it was destroyed, he had been told it was restored. What he could feel and mourn for is the Bentley. he watched it burnt. He watched it parked just around the corner good and whole.

He had thought, after all this ends, how Crowley would brush his fingers over the hood, over the door. He had thought how they were going to open the door and found those biscuits Aziraphale liked the most sitting neatly in box, under the passenger seat. He had thought, when Crowley drove him in central London, doing 90 miles per hour, he would not, not even jokingly, says _you’re going too fast._

He didn’t realize he’s missing the warmth until it was given back to him.

There were rustlings. He didn’t have time to study the demons’ surprised whispering and exchange in low voice. His soul was thoroughly soaked. It overflowed. He could feel it gently, lovingly coursing through his body, spilling out of him.

“Demons can’t feel emotion!”

He chuckled. See, if Aziraphale had learned anything stationing on earth, it’s that anyone might crack under stress. Musician mistaking Bach from Schubert. Botanist mistaken an edible plant for a poisonous vine. Prince of Hell, Lord Beelzebub exclaiming demon couldn’t feel _emotion_ while clearly zie was feeling confusion and denial.

He got what the Prince of Hell was saying anyway. Demon shouldn’t have empathy. Demon shouldn’t be selfless. Demon shouldn’t feel the want to spread themselves as a carpet so their loved ones’ feet wouldn’t be strained in cold.

Crowley was no ordinary demon, anyway.

“Crowley.” He said delicately, devoted. _My love._  
  


Aziraphale was, in fact, not so much of a stranger to death. Not _the Death_ , thank you very much. He had never been on good term with any of the Hoursemen.

He had witnessed accidents, illness, executions. He had been through flood, war, famine. He knew the scream and the yelp and curses. He knew despair and dread.

He had witnessed placidity, surprisingly too. He had done some favor, delivering letters to those that will never see their child, their wife, their sibling, their friend again. Some of the letters were in such straight forward, accepting, even humorous tone, they made you wonder how these people wrote this when they were fully aware that they would be stoned to death, be decapitated, be shot, their bodies humiliated. One thing common of these letters were that they were all so very gentle.

“ _take care of our parents. You’re the only child left now, don’t allow mum too much honey. We both know it’s not good for her health._ ”

“ _I’m innocent. I have no regrets. Sorry can’t see the day your company booms, bro._ ”

“ _please remember I love you. Please remember, and find someone else who can love you and keep you well._ ”

“ _lots of love_ ”

“ _love you_ ” 

“ _I love you_ ”

“ _don’t forget that I love you._ ”

Aziraphale wondered what it would be like if he could write a letter to Crowley this instant. It was impossible. He was just wondering.  
  


_“You will find no complaints from me, my dear. Lunch after that?”_

_“Obviously. Shall we have a picnic, or dine at the Ritz?”_

_“The Ritz sounds divine. Where shall we go after that?”_  
  


There was so much pain in saying these. The sun had been bright when they were kidnapped from the park. The ducks were messy feathers of chaotic energy as before. Aziraphale could imagine how the strawberries will melt on his tongue, how the champagne buzzed wonderfully in his mouth.

Where shall they go? They shall go nowhere. They shall stay on earth. They should be close to each other. They should be right next to each other.

They should never be apart ever again.

_I’d pull you into my arms, have you sit with me, and hold you. I’d bring my wings out, and wrap them around us. I’d create a perfect bubble, for us to just be, together._

The fire was there.

In a sense the fire was always there. Aziraphale might Fall, might get punished, might be destroyed. All those years he knew the fire was there.

All those years he knew, he also knew, there’s a current of air there.

People often avoided to refer to their affection as winds for they thought winds were transient, but that was what Crowley’s love for him was like. It didn’t force. It was soothing. It was warm when it was chilling, cool when it was burning. It was the most prominent when they were together but Aziraphale always knew, even when they hadn’t met each other in a decade, that the wind was there.

Because the wind was there, the fire never really died. Now, the fire was ready to consume him.

Aziraphale found that he didn’t really mind.  
  


He wanted to cry the moment those beautiful eyes met his.

_How am I so fortunate, so blessedly fortunate to have you in my existence? How am I so filled with luck, filled with undeserving luck to call the wickedly talented, inexplicably clever you as mine? What have I done to deserve, unrightfully deserve your utmost devotion? I don’t deserve something so ineffably beautiful. I never do.  
  
_

* * *

_~~My Crowley~~ _

_~~My dear Crowley dear boy~~ _

_~~My darling~~ _

_My most beloved,_

_I think it’s the end._

_I’ve thought about it many times. What will it be like the last time we last brush each other’s hand? What will it be like the last time I see your breath turned into cloud in the cold winter air? What will it be like when I last speak your name? Will I see the last time you take in a breath? Will I see the light leaving your eyes? Will I see your soul shattered into nothingness?_

_Will you see mine?_

_We learn the answer too soon.  
  
_

_There’s so much we haven’t done, and so much that we didn’t do enough._

_I cannot spare more space for regrets and broken wishes. You know them, piling up like waves, waiting to crash as one, as tsunami. Time is too precious to spend counting sweet dreams that never come true and wounds I left on you knowingly. That demon is dragging me behind. I put up a fruitless fight to hold you in my eyes just a second longer, another second._

_Will Death be amused at my attempt?_

_Never mind. I choose not to care.  
  
_

_I choose you.  
  
_

_Please remember that I choose you._

_Please know that I would have still chosen to love you even if I could foresee the destruction awaiting me._

_The fire has received its fuel. To be trapped in it is agony. Not loving you would have been worse._

_Please remember.  
  
_

_Remember.  
  
_

_Please.  
  
_

_PleAsee—  
  
_

_I’m so sorry you have to hear it. I tried. I cannot stop it_

_CROWLEY IT HURTS SO MUCH UNBEARABLE ISN’T EVEN THE WORD_

_I tried I’m trying It’s tearing me apart oh that ugly scream is the sound I’m making? Don’t listen to that stop it I DON’T KNOW HOW TO STOP IT I CAN’T please please please know that I choose loving you and though I do fear pain like this I will choose loving you a thousand times over over anything in this world in existence—_  
  


_this is the last bit. the last piece of me and our story that will never be told and isn’t worth telling._

_there will not be a thing that can be called “Aziraphale” after this. nor does “Crowley”._

_if we do end up somewhere instead of perishing into nothingness, we’ll be going to the same place. at least, I pray._

_if we ended up as nothing, as silence, as air never breathed and dusts never landed, we ended up as the same kind of nothing. we shall reunite then._

_We will._

_there’s one last thing I need to tell you (just this one. this broken dream.)_

_last night, after our anxious plotting and fierce hoping, you worn yourself out and indulged in your favorite human behavior—sleep. not before tugging me in the blankets along with you, of course. when you woke up, you heard me puttering in the kitchen. you heard the kettle boiling, ready for a cup of tea. you assumed I was awake all night. you assumed that you have made me suffer the boring task of keeping my eyes open and staying still in bed._

_my love, you were so wrong._

_I slept. what I have dreamt is unimportant. the important thing is that I woke up. the important thing is that I woke up next to you._

_the morning breeze had pushed the curtains sideways when we were both unconscious. wind was slipping in, playing with dark linen. the wind could not reach your hair. I reached for it. it was Inappropriate. Definitely uninvited. you slept on without a stir._

_and I thought: this is it, this is the day I’m going to confess everything. this is the day I’ll give you what you deserve all along. you’ll claim my heart. I’m willing to. we’ll walk out of heaven and hell and I will hold your hand as we walk together to the Ritz. I"ll stop being afraid, stop hiding. we're going to have everything we ever wanted. it’s going to be perfect._

_Yours,_

_Aziraphale_

**Author's Note:**

> Months. For some time I wrote 600 words non-stop. For 60 days I couldn't face it. Sometimes I felt too happy to write this. Sometimes I felt too drained to write this.
> 
> Then I almost cried yesterday. and the day before yesterday. for a place I've never been to. for a place that I fear will become where I'm living.
> 
> Search "Hong Kong" with "National Security Law". Search "Extradition bill" if you have more time. I hope you'll understand.


End file.
